Painted Eyes
by lull.and.waves
Summary: She scoffed, the derisive noise cutting into him. "You say you don't like violence. You say you don't hurt people. But you're a damn fool if you really believe that conning people out of what matters most to them isn't hurting them." The truth hurts. OC
1. isabelle bravo

_**A/N:** A short fan fic about life, truth, and, of course, Neal. Done in short, fast drabble-like installments for quick updating and easy reading. The entire thing sums up to be a oneshot, just in multiple short chapters :) A just-for-fun piece, to see Neal wobble on his pedestal a bit ;) Hope you guys enjoy! _

_Disclaimer: If I owned White Collar, would I be here? I think not :) I only own the original character Isabelle Bravo, not, unfortunately, Neal or Peter or any of the other characters :)  
_

**Painted Eyes**

**1.**

"_That's_ her?"

Peter sighed. "That's her," he confirmed, his usually gruff voice worn down with exhaustion. "Our secretive Painted Eyes-forger. Had us running after her around New York before we finally caught her in Chinatown. And we wouldn't have, either, if Lauren hadn't noticed that old Chinese shopkeepers aren't supposed to have green eyes."

Neal chuckled as he slipped his hands into his pockets and casually observed the extremely young, girlish figure sitting in the interrogation room, her face a perfect mask of cold, removed indifference, her green eyes flashing sullenly, a small smirk playing across his lips. Peter shot him a suspicious look. "Don't be getting any ideas," he said shortly. "That girl is a convicted felon."

Neal raised his eyebrows just as Peter realized how stupid that must have sounded. "Well—I—still," he snapped. "You know what I mean."

Neal grinned before turning back to the glass. It had taken them nearly three months to track down and capture the elusive forger of the Painted Eyes portrait that had been stolen from the Met, and now that they had, well, Neal wasn't sure what to think. The ID that Peter, Lauren and Jones had lifted off of her when she'd first been arrested identified her as Isabelle Bravo, 26 years old, but the severe-looking, green-eyed girl sitting on the other side of the glass couldn't be older than 20. In fact, Neal mused, she could have passed for an 18-year-old, fresh out of high school. He couldn't help smiling to himself. This should be a breeze.

Peter had a wary look of warning on his face as he held out the inch-thick file. "I'm letting you handle this one, Neal, because she's young and female, but you give me _one reason_—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you'll pull me off the case and never let me interrogate anybody else ever again." Neal grabbed the file and flipped quickly through it before glancing back up at Peter. "Did you say young and female?" Instantly, there it was, the old, infamous self-assured Caffrey charm. "That sounds right up my alley."


	2. green eyes

**2.**

Neal slipped into the interrogation room, taking note of how the girl's spine instantly stiffened, her green eyes fixed on him with a look in them that made him think irrevocably of a hungry, pissed-off teenage lioness. He stepped forwards and flashed her a small smile full of just the perfect amount of openness and charm.

"Hey."

The girl studied him coolly, sitting as perfectly still and silent as a statue.

Neal cleared his throat and glanced at the open file in his hands. "Isabelle Bravo, right? Can I call you Izzy?"

The girl's voice sent chills down Neal's spine as effectively as a bucket of ice water. "No."

Ah. Neal subtly turned the charm up a notch and seated himself at the table across from her, laying the file out in front of him. "Just Isabelle, then." He laced his fingers together. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem a little young to be 26."

The girl arched an eyebrow at him, and the effect was immediate. Neal's smile faltered ever so slightly as the girl's age seemed to increase five years before his very eyes. "Do I?"

Neal broadened his grin. "Maybe just a little." He opened the file and pretended to study the facts that he had already memorized months earlier. "Let's take a look at your most recent accomplishments."

The girl leaned in a fraction of an inch, her eyes glittering like raw emeralds. "Yes. Let's."

Neal cleared his throat for the second time in the past five minutes. "Let's see...ah, yes, bonds forgery, very well done, I see...a heist of the Museum of Natural History, nicely executed, and you stole not one, but three pieces of Cleopatra's jewelry...ah yes, and then there's the forgery and theft of the Faera Bleu Ladie and the Painted Eyes pieces from the Met." He carefully closed the file and met Isabelle Bravo's cold, expressionless green eyes. "All extremely skillfully executed crimes-except you made one mistake."

Something flashed deep in the girl's eyes, something that Neal, with all of his people expertise and conman skill, couldn't quite identify. "Oh, really?" she purred. "What's that?"

Neal summoned a smirk to his lips. "You got caught."

**_A/N:_**_ Sooo, what do you guys think so far? Review please :)_


	3. this changes nothing

**3.**

Neal left the interrogation room, the gears in his mind racing at a hundred miles per hour. Peter met him out in the hall, his expression a mixture of amusement and more exhaustion.

Peter looked ready to laugh, but it came out as a sigh. "You didn't crack her, huh?"

Neal sighed. "No. I didn't." He caught the sudden burst of amusement on Peter's face and groaned. "Oh, don't start, Peter."

"Sorry," Peter chuckled. "It's just that you don't meet a girl that can deflect the Caffrey charm like that very often. Especially not one that's so young."

Neal couldn't help but grin. "Oh, now you're just mocking me." He visibly brightened as Lauren Cruz appeared at Peter's shoulder, a thin file in her hands. "Lauren! What have you got for us?"

Peter shot Neal the old look of warning as he turned to the resident team newbie. "What he means is, what have you got for _me_, Lauren?"

Neal exchanged exasperated glances with Lauren. "Of course."

Lauren smiled as she handed Peter the file. "Turns out, the name Isabelle Bravo is just an alias," she

said, as Peter flipped through the meager contents of the file. "Our suspect's real name is Isabelle Reilly, age 20, 21 in the fall. Jones and I looked her up, and it turns out that she's got quite the family history. She comes from small-town Minnesota and, from the looks of it, supported herself through her childhood: both of her parents were drunks, a real pair of scumbags."

Peter "mmhed", a telltale sign of the agent's intense concentration as he studied one of the papers in the file. "She an only child?"

Lauren shook her head. "Uh-uh. She's got a little sister named Mimi Reilly, seven years old."

Neal's brow furrowed. "Who raised her?"

Lauren looked to Neal. "Isabelle did."

"But Isabelle—"

"Was only 11 when Mimi was born," Lauren confirmed. "Looks like she had it pretty rough growing up."

Peter sighed as he closed the file. "A felony is a felony, no excuses," he said, practically reading Neal's thoughts from the expression on the younger man's face. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "If Reilly's parents were both worthless drunks, then where is Mimi now?"

"She's currently checked into the cancer ward at Mount Sinai Hospital here in New York," Lauren reported.

Neal blinked. "Cancer?"

Lauren nodded. "Acute leukemia. Mimi first got sick during Reilly's first year of college as a scholarship student studying art at the Rhode Island School of Design. After she finished her freshman year, Reilly dropped out of school and moved to New York, where she put Mimi in treatment at Mount Sinai and took on multiple jobs to pay the medical bills. A year later, she ended her employment at all three of her jobs when a mysteriously large amount of money was deposited in her bank account, enough to pay for Mimi's current medical bills." Lauren gestured to the files in Peter's hand. "Three guesses where the money came from."

Peter nodded. "Good work, Lauren. Go get some rest; it's been a long day."

Lauren nodded gratefully. "You got it, boss."

Neal and Peter watched her go in a deep, mulish silence. Then Peter sighed and turned to Neal with an air of resignation. "Alright, spit it out."

Neal didn't waste a second. "Peter, this changes everything," he blurted out.

"No," Peter said, giving Neal a sharp look. "This doesn't change anything."

"But—"

"So she had a sad past and a rough childhood. Lots of people do. It doesn't give them the right to commit crimes and steal from honest people. You hear me Caffrey?"

Neal hesitated, then sighed. "You're right."

"Of course I am. And now, I am going to go home and have dinner with my lovely wife, and you are going to head home, too." He shot Neal another sharp look. "And don't be getting any ideas, either."

Neal nodded and gave Peter a small, charming smile. "You got it, boss."

* * *

_**A/N:** _Hello! **Thank you to everybody that reviewed**, I really really really appreciate it. You guys seemed to like it, so I'm going to keep going with this one. Sorry for the mainly uneventful chapter, there's going to be better stuff coming up soon, promise ;) Until then, review, and thanks for reading!

P.S. There's a brand new episode of White Collar tonight! Who else is as excited as I am? :)


	4. masks

**4.**

"Come on. Please?"

Peter gave Neal the Look. "No."

"Come on," Neal pleaded. "I can crack her. I know I can. You know I can."

"Correction," Peter interrupted. "I have my doubts that you can."

Neal exhaled in exasperation. "Come on, Peter." He spread his hands out, palms up. "Ten minutes. That's all I ask. What sort of damage could I possibly do in ten minutes?"

Peter raised an eyebrow.

Neal held up a hand. "Okay, don't answer that question." He paused. "Come on. Ten minutes!"

Peter sighed and considered it. "Ten minutes?"

"Yes." Neal hesitated. "Well…"

"Neal…"

"Okay, _maybe_ fifteen…"

"Neal…"

"Alright, twenty at most! Come on!"

Peter huffed. "Alright, fine. _Twenty minutes_. That's all you get. You hear me, Caffrey?"

"Yes!"

"Wipe that grin off your face, Caffrey."

Neal coughed hastily. "Yes sir."

* * *

Isabelle Reilly's eyes gleamed as she leaned forwards and said, in a smooth, arch hum, "Oh, dear. Not you again."

Neal subtly cleared his throat and flashed the slender, dark-haired girl a charming, easygoing smile. "I'm afraid so, Miss Reilly." He carefully watched her out of the corner of his eye to see if his use of her real name would throw her off.

Not a bit. Rather, it seemed to amuse her; she gave him a sultry smile and leaned back in her chair, her every movement as aloft and fluid as flowing water. "Ah. I see that you have learned that my name Isabelle Bravo is just a nickname, Agent Caffrey."

Neal chuckled as he seated himself at the table across from the convict. "Please. Call me Neal." He crossed his fingers and leaned forwards, almost conspiratorially, as if about to confess to her his deepest, darkest secret. "Tell me, Miss Reilly: Would you happen to know anything about a man named Jon Bernard?"

_There._ Something flickered across Reilly's expression, something so miniscule and brief that Neal had to wonder if he'd even seen it at all; then, just as quickly, it was gone, lost behind her mask of flawless composition. She leaned in as well, so that their faces were mere inches from each other, and reached out a single slender finger to seemingly absently trace the outline of Neal's knuckle. Immediately, he felt himself stiffen between the shoulders, and he had to force himself to relax as Reilly gave him a sly smile.

"Hmm…let me think…" she murmured, focusing on trailing the cool tip of her forefinger along his loosely curled fist. "A Mr. Jon Bernard, did you say?"

Neal had to force himself to remain still as he smiled at Isabelle Reilly. "That's the one. Heard of him?"

Reilly lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug as she drew circles with her fingertip on the back of Neal's hand. "Well…indirectly, I know that he deals in some pretty dirty business…" Her voice lowered. "I know that he heads his own crime syndicate…" Her voice dropped even lower. "That he's a murderer and a conman…" When she looked up and met Neal's glittering blue eyes with her own diamond-hard green ones, her voice was barely above a hush. "Just like you, Mr. Caffrey."

_**A/N:**__ What do you think? We're getting to the good part(s). The next chapter is coming up either later today or tomorrow afternoon, at latest. Thanks to everybody who reviewed, you guys are awesome!_


	5. broken facades

**5.**

Neal abruptly pulled away, his eyes hard. Reilly was playing games with him, messing with his head, and frankly, it was pissing him off. Neal had had enough of mind games ever since he had been released into Peter's custody to consult for the FBI, since Kate and Fowler and empty wine bottles and cryptic notes and amber music boxes. With her sly smirks and coy, whispery, stabbing words, Reilly was getting to him, and it only served to make him angrier.

"You're wrong." Neal's voice was cold and hard. "I'm nothing like Jon Bernard."

Reilly arched a lazily inquisitive eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah," Neal confirmed coldly, his jaw clenched. "Unlike Mr. Bernard, I don't like guns, I don't do violence, and I do not hurt people to get what I want."

Reilly let out a sharp bark of laughter, the sound a mix of scorn and desperate glee. Her laughter suddenly died off as she leaned forwards, her eyes glittering like a thousand shattered emeralds. "You say you don't like guns. You say you don't like violence. You say you don't _hurt_ people," she spat. "But you're a damn fool if you really believe that conning people out of their most treasured possessions and their livelihoods isn't hurting them."

* * *

Behind the mirrored glass wall, Peter stood with his arms crossed over his chest, all of his concentration narrowed into a single beam of focus directed at the first and only 20-year-old girl that Peter had met who hadn't swooned for Neal's charms within the first five seconds of laying eyes on the convicted conman. Reilly had just skewered Neal with the hard, cold reality that, in all of the seven years that he had been known Caffrey, Peter hadn't been able to put into the right words, and she'd delivered it with just the right amount of passionate anger and scorn that Peter knew would pierce Neal's polished façade and get to him.

"Damn," Jones muttered. "Look at Caffrey. I don't think I've ever seen him this off his cool before." He paused. "Reilly really knows what she's talking about, doesn't she, boss?"

"Either that," Peter said, "or else she just really knows what to say to get under Neal's skin."

* * *

Late into the night, Neal stood on the balcony of his bedroom suite, staring out at the multicolored nightlights scattered far into the Manhattan dark, and thought about Mozzie, Peter, Elizabeth and June, Alex and her strawberry-sweet parting kiss, Lauren and Jones; and Kate. He thought about Kate, wondered about Kate, with her wide eyes and light laughter and silky, sweet-smelling hair. He thought about Isabelle Reilly, who was only 20 years old and yet the innocence had already gone from her glittering green eyes, only 20 years old and yet she knew just the right thing to say to cut him to the core. Isabelle Reilly, whose pain and anger and wariness had manifested itself into a mask, a façade, coy smiles and seducing whispers, not far removed at all from his own charming grins and suave remarks.

They were alike, Neal realized, he and 20-year-old Isabelle Reilly, she who struggled in vain to hide her true emotions. More alike than Neal would have guessed. More alike than he wanted to accept.

* * *

**A/N:** Hey guys! Okay, first off, I just want to say that I am _so_, _so_, _so,_ reallyreally sorry about the delay in updating. Let it be known that the blame here goes to my HIGHLY irritating computer, who feels as if it is obligated to just start losing documents at random so I have to end up retyping everything.

Secondly, I'd like to hear your opinions/wishes/requests on what should happen next. I've got a vague idea floating around somewhere in the back of my head, but I want to hear what you guys think should follow Neal's epic realization into reality.

Oh, and one last thing: as for the shortness of the chapters, Painted Eyes is deliberately written in short, snappy installments. Painted Eyes has about the total content of a oneshot, but in separate multiple chapters.

cheers!

-queen


	6. melted ice

**6.**

"Reilly confessed."

Neal's head snapped up and he found himself shoving his current mortgage fraud case aside. "What?"

"She told us everything," Peter explained, "including all details on Bernard's next drop for tonight at 11:30. We'll have him in cuffs before he knows what hit him." He gave Neal a look that held the slightest hint of suspicion.

Neal returned Peter's gaze with a blink of innocence. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Peter exhaled. "Alright, let's get this over with. What did you do?"

Neal raised an eyebrow and gave his handler a look of mock disappointment. "Oh, come on, Peter, you really don't trust me that much?"

Peter shrugged. "Well?"

"I didn't do anything, Peter," Neal insisted. "Really. I _swear_."

"Hmm." Peter regarded Neal appraisingly. "Nothing illegal?"

"Nothing at all, Peter."

"Alright, you're clear," Peter relented, turning away.

"Peter, wait." Neal hesitated. "What happens to Reilly?"

Peter paused, shrugged. "If all goes well with Bernard, a light sentence, immunity if she's lucky. No lawyer needed; she knows how to strike a pretty good deal on her own."

Neal nodded. "I bet she does."

Peter glanced at his watch. "I'm going out for lunch with Elizabeth. I'll be back later."

Neal perked up at the mention of food. "You want to bring me along?"

"Yeah, right."

Neal chuckled and settled back into his seat. As soon as Peter was out of sight, his smile dropped, to be replaced by a look of serious, troubled concentration. _Reilly confessed…she told us everything._

_She told us everything._

_ What did you do?_

Neal set his elbows on his desk, staring intently into the distance. Reilly's eyes suddenly flashed before his mind's eye, a single moment of something broken and vulnerable beneath the cold, hard green emeralds, a crack in her voice as she pierced him with her scorn and anger, hinting at a desperate despair…

_I'm not all that sure what I did. But I intend to find out.

* * *

_

**_A/N:_** So maybe Isabelle Reilly isn't the ice princess she'd like to be. What made her crack?

First, a shout-out to people like Amagake, Kiki Cabou, NayahReidWhumper, and booksmartblonde for your _wonderful, wonderful reviews_. Keep 'em coming :) And to the rest of my excellent readers, thank you for your story alert subscriptions. They make me feel special :)

Peace, love, & everybody enjoy the new White Collar on Tues. :D


	7. beautiful girl

**7.**

The painting was, in a word…breathtaking. An angelic masterpiece. A photograph, almost, brushed over with light and softness.

A young girl, with a small, pointed noise and skin like fine, silken porcelain reclined in a rustic wood-and-rope swing. The swing, and subsequently the girl, dangled from the burly branches of a grand old oak tree, which rested in the heart of a sunlit orchard. Her long, dark, chocolaty curls tumbled down her pale, delicate shoulders, framing her heart-shaped face and glimmering gold and brown in the sunlight. One elegant hand reached up to grasp the rope of the swing, while the other reached out to catch at a falling, red-gold leaf. Her bare feet were crossed in front of her, and the skirts of her swirling pale tangerine chiffon dress danced around her calves. A dark blue morning glory resting in her dark curls lent her an even more fairylike appearance.

The girl, in all of her soft, elfin beauty, would have appeared perfect, angelic, if not for the glassy, pleading look in her clear blue-gray eyes, the agonized slant of her brow, the yearning in the arch of her neck and the tight, pained set of her velvet-red lips. Neal felt his chest tighten as he allowed his analytical, all-seeing blue eyes to glance over the painting. The portrait expressed the girl's quiet agony in such a raw and vulnerable way that Neal almost felt as if he were intruding on something very private, too sacred and innocent for his soiled criminal's eyes.

"Neal."

Neal jumped as Peter appeared at his side, a look of peaceful satisfaction mingling with the exhaustion on his face. "Bernard's in custody; we've got him cold for theft, forgery, and murder, thanks to Reilly. He'll get 25 to life, easy."

Neal nodded and grinned. "Good work, Petey."

"Call me that again and you'll be back behind bars before you can blink."

"Relax, buddy," Neal laughed. He paused. "Hey, so what happens to Reilly?"

"Full immunity," Peter said, his voice gruff, although Neal privately thought that the rough older man was secretly glad to see Reilly do the right thing and be rewarded for it. "She and her little sister will be under witness protection for a while, just until the dust clears and things settle down with Bernard and his crew."

"Is she still around?"

Peter glanced back over his shoulder. "Uh, just left, actually."

"Great." Neal hurriedly grabbed his coat and hat. "Till tomorrow, then, Peter."

"Neal!" Peter barked out. Neal skidded to a halt and looked back, his expression bright and inquisitive. Peter just sighed.

"Nothing illegal."

Neal flashed Peter his best dazzling conman grin. "Of course not, Peter. Who do you think I am? Oh, one last thing." He doubled back and grabbed the canvas.

"Caffrey!" Peter bellowed. "That's evidence!"

"Aw, come on, Peter, you said it yourself, it's practically open-and-shut from here on out. Don't worry, I won't do anything illegal with it." He winked, tipped his hat, and was gone.

Peter huffed, with half a mindful to stomp out there after Neal, seize back the forged painting, and demand to know what the conman was thinking, but all he could manage at that moment was a small, simple smile.

* * *

**_A/N:_** Questions, questions! What is Neal up to this time?

REVIEW PLEASE. I'm planning to put up Ch. 8 fairly soon, since it's all pretty clear in my head, but reviews will make the writing process that much faster. So please. For me? :)

Again, thanks so much for reading everyone. I hope you enjoyed this installment. We're nearing the happy ending. It's getting close. :) Hang in there!

love&cheers!

-queen


	8. a smile for the Winter

**_A/N:_** Painted Eyes' longest chapter yet. Enjoy :)

* * *

8.

"Isabelle! Wait up!"

Isabelle Reilly halted and glanced back over her shoulder. Behind her, Neal Caffrey hurried towards her, his head lowered against the brisk, chilly wind.

Ahead, Agent Clinton Jones paused and looked back, and a look of half-exasperated, half-"of course" acceptance came over his face as Neal caught up. "Neal, what are you doing?"

Neal flashed Jones a friendly grin. "Hey, buddy." He nodded towards Isabelle. "Could I have a quick word with her?"

Jones hesitated, then sighed. "Alright, but make it quick."

"Always."

Jones stepped back and stood guard as Neal turned to Isabelle, who flashed him a sweetly charming smile. "Neal Caffrey. To what do I owe this immense pleasure?"

Neal returned the smile and casually held out a rolled-up canvas. "I believe that this is yours, Miss Reilly."

Isabelle blinked, uncertainty sweeping over her features as she reached out and hesitantly took the canvas. Gently, slowly, she unfurled it, and looked down in silence at her forgery of Painted Eyes.

Wordlessly, Isabelle carefully rolled the painting back up and looked up. Neal smiled down at her.

"You know," he said, quietly, "I took a look at the real painting, and I must say, I'm impressed. Your forgery is amazingly well done—in fact, it's practically, almost exactly the same as the real one."

And then, at last, for the first time, Isabelle Reilly's diamond-hard emerald green eyes softened, and a look came over her face that hinted that she already knew Neal's next words.

He said them anyways. "Well, except, you know, the girl in the real painting looked perfectly happy to me."

Isabelle looked away and smiled—a real, genuine smile, and Neal found it remarkable how much younger and happier it made her look. "Well," she said, as she carefully tucked the canvas inside her coat, "you know what they say."

Neal tilted his head, questioningly. "What _do_ they say?"

Isabelle looked up and met Neal's gaze with her own. "That artists reveal more of themselves in their work than they ever intend to." For a moment, she studied Neal with an appraising look in her bright, clear green eyes, a slight smile curving up the corner of her lips. "You're an artist yourself, aren't you?"

Neal paused, considered. "Yeah," he finally answered, with a light smirk of his own. "You could say that I am."

"Hmm." With a soft chuckle, Isabelle nodded to Neal. "Well, I'd like to see some of your work someday, Mr. Caffrey. Till then." She turned to walk away.

"Wait," Neal called. Isabelle paused, looked back. Neal hesitated. "Why—what made you confess? In the end, after everything—why did you do it?"

Isabelle exhaled, regarding him thoughtfully. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah," Neal confirmed, with a slight nod of his head. "I do."

She turned and retraced her steps until she stood close before him, her eyes unfocused on a spot just above Neal's shoulder. "The truth is," she stated, slowly and clearly, "I confessed because…" With a slight sigh, she looked up and met Neal's eyes with her own. "I confessed because I didn't want to end up like you."

Neal blinked, more stunned that he'd have liked to admit. "Oh." He paused. "Huh. I—didn't see that coming." He flashed her his famous Caffrey million-megawatt smile. "May I ask why? You know, they call me one of the most interesting criminals of the twenty-first century—it's a very enviable title."

A quick smirk flashed across her lips. "Oh, yes, you're definitely interesting."

Neal cocked his head, his smile fading. "But…?"

Her eyes softened. "The truth is…I don't want to be that kind of interesting." She shrugged slightly, looked away. "I don't want to spend three years of my life dodging the FBI. I don't want to spend another four in prison. I don't—" Her mouth twisted into a grimace. "I never really _liked_ stealing from people. And—" Here she hesitated, her eyes glinting in the winter late-afternoon sunshine. "And I really—I _really_ don't want to spend my freedom chasing after something that isn't mine anymore. That—maybe never was."

_Kate._

For a moment, Isabelle remained silent, her eyes distant as they rested on New York City's famous, cloud-scraping skyline. At last, she turned to face Neal and met his eyes, a curve to her lips and a glint in her eye. "Thank you, Neal," she said, her voice firm and genuine. "For—everything."

And then, to Neal's utmost surprise, she stepped forwards and brushed a light, swift kiss on his cheek.

"Goodbye, Neal," Isabelle Reilly said. She flashed him a small smile and turned away, walking off to rejoin the awaiting Jones. "Until the next time we meet."

Neal exhaled, feeling a dozen different emotions come to a rest inside his chest. "Goodbye, Isabelle," he murmured, watching as the gravely graceful young woman and her FBI guardian melted into the crowd. "Until then."

* * *

_**A/N:**_ And so the CONFLICT draws to a close…but the happy epilogue is yet to come! :D

I would LOVE some reviews, by the way. ;) Tell me EVERYTHING. Was Neal still good in this chapter? Because I really appreciate your support in that you approve of how I've portrayed him so far and I'd like to maintain that as much as possible. Also, did Isabelle melt too quickly? Because really, underneath that mask of ice she's just a girl… I had originally intended to put something in about how she had PURPOSEFULLY made the girl's emotions in her forgery drastically different than the girl's emotions in the original so that she'd get caught and could put an end to the life of crime she'd been living, buttt...eh. Oh, and it wasn't really clear, it's implied that the original Painted Eyes portrayed a perfectly content girl, but Isabelle's emotions overtook her forgery and churned out a completely different and much more raw and awe-inspiring version of the painting, which is why it meant so much to her.

AnYYYWAAaaYYs, to put an end to my rambling...tell me what you think, luveys! :)

cheers!

~queen


	9. Epilogue

_**A/N:**_ Here it is; the last and final installment of Painted Eyes. The story comes to a close. _Whoosh._ Okay, enough. Enjoy!

_

* * *

The Epilogue._

**9 months later.**

"Caffrey, you're late."

Neal Caffrey flashed Peter Burke an easy smile and proffered a tall, crisp white Styrofoam cup. "Soo, I'm guessing that's a 'no' to this fresh, steamy hot espresso?"

Peter good-naturedly snorted, rolled his eyes, and grabbed the enticingly warm, fragrant extra-large coffee, all seemingly simultaneously. "Alright, alright, wipe that smirk off your face." He gulped from the coffee before turning and nodding, heading for the staircase that led up out of the bullpen to the offices. "Come on; I have something to show you."

Neal tilted his head and curiously followed after Peter. "An interesting new case, I presume?" He halted in the middle of the staircase; behind him, a harried-looking young redhead gave a start, her eyes widening as the six tall, brimming cups of coffee wobbled on the tray she balanced before her. "Peter, please don't tell me that it's more mortgage fraud."

The weathered FBI agent chuckled as he led Neal up the last step and around the corner to the glass-walled conference room, where Neal briefly took note of Diana and a small, solid form perched on one end of the long rectangular table. "No, no mortgage fraud," he said, pushing the door open and stepping back. "Just an old friend."

Neal looked up and suddenly stopped in his tracks. The slender, dark-haired female that he had automatically taken for Diana was not Diana, but a much younger woman, almost still a girl yet had it not been for her knowing emerald eyes, smiling at him from beneath her silky dark chocolate-colored curls.

And by her side perched a child, a lovely fairy of a little girl, with toffee-colored ringlets, a caramel complexion, an inquisitive smile and eyes as bright and green as her older sister's.

Peter gave Isabelle a friendly, respectful nod before turning to Neal. "I'll leave you two to catch up," he announced, and with that, whisked himself out of sight.

"Isabelle." Neal greeted the visitors with a brilliant smile that would have been charming if it hadn't been busy being genuine.

"Neal Caffrey," Isabelle Reilly drawled, rising to her feet, a smile playing across her lips. "It has been far too long." Her eyes were open, kind. "I have someone here that I'd like you to meet. Mia, meet Neal Caffrey; Neal, meet my sister, Mia."

Mimi "Mia" Reilly regarded Neal with infinite interest in her curious green eyes. "Hi," she chirped brightly, her voice cheerful and friendly. "I'm Mia. You're Neal? Izzy said you're a completely gorgeous specimen of male."

To Neal's surprise, Isabelle burst into laughter. He raised his eyebrows her way, a smirk curving up the corner of his lips. "Completely gorgeous, am I?"

Isabelle's eyes danced. "Tell him what else I said, Mia."

Mia gave Neal a pearly, toothy little grin. "Izzy also called you naïve, nar—nar-siss—nar-sitick, and a sleazy womanizer."

Neal couldn't help it: he let out a genuine peal of laughter to match Isabelle's, his eyes lighting up and looking very, very blue. He knelt before the little girl, flashing her a grin of his own. "Tell me, do you know for a fact what a womanizer is, Ms. Mia?"

Mia giggled and scrunched up her left eye in a very unsuccessful (and very adorable) attempt at a wink. "Yes sir; a womanizer is a grown-up man who sells his body to grown-up girls in order to get what he wants."

Isabelle and Neal's combined laughter echoed around the conference room until each was left happily gasping for breath, tears of mirth in their eyes. "Okay, admit it, you definitely taught her to say that," Neal chuckled, fondly ruffling Mia's frizzy bronze curls.

"I really didn't," Isabelle laughed, dropping an affectionate kiss on the top of Mia's head. "Mia's a genius, aren't you, Mimi?"

Neal grinned. "I think you are," he stated, his tone frank and matter-of-fact even as his eyes danced merrily. "In fact, I'm a genius myself; you'd make a great wingman, you know."

Mia grinned back. "May-be."

Neal laughed and rose. "She's cute," he remarked appreciatively, as Mia peeked over her sister's shoulder to look out the glass walls to the city below. He hesitated slightly, then asked, "How's—?"

"Her leukemia?" Isabelle looked at her baby sister, tenderness and relief intermingled on her radiant face. "It's gone into submission, for now. The doctors say that, given some time, she'll be okay."

Neal nodded, his eyes kind and very earnest. "She will be."

Isabelle smiled softly. "Yeah. I think she will be, too."

Neal cocked his head. "But wait; don't tell me that you came all the way out here from where Witness Protection relocated you to Dallas just to come and see me and my 'completely gorgeous' face?"

Isabelle laughed. "You wish, Caffrey, but we're not here for you; we're here because, believe it or not, you aren't the only criminal recruited to work for the FBI."

Neal raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Really? You too?"

For a moment, a ghost of Isabelle's old coy smirk returned to her lips. "You're looking at the FBI's newest forensic artist."

Neal feigned shock. "No tracking anklet?"

Isabelle shrugged. "I'm clean," she declared.

Neal grinned. "Then I guess that I'll be seeing you around. Literally," he added.

Isabelle laughed. "And that wasn't even a pickup line!"

"Miss Reilly?" Jones's head popped into the conference room. "You're needed down in Anthropology."

Isabelle straightened. "Duty calls." She nudged Mia with her hip. "Say bye to Neal, Mia."

"Ciao, Neal," Mia sang over her shoulder, already trotting out the door.

Isabelle smiled. "Well, good day to you, Mr. Caffrey. Until the next time we meet."

Neal was smiling, too. "Maybe next time, I'll even show you some of my artwork."

Neal watched as Isabelle and Mia exited the conference room and descended the same staircase that he and Peter had come up earlier. He watched as, together, they crossed through the bullpen, stopping to say hello to Jones on the way, and his eyes were still on them as they stepped into the elevator and were gone from sight.

"Neal?"

Neal blinked and started, to find Peter standing before him, his gruff expression hinting at a barely contained smile. "How was your 'catching up'?"

Neal smirked broadly. "She thinks that I'm completely gorgeous."

Peter just shook his head, chuckling as he good-naturedly rolled his eyes. "Well, guess what, Mr. Male Model, being gorgeous isn't going to solve an art heist. You coming or not?"

Neal looked to Peter's open, expecting face, which still held glints of his gruff, good-natured humor; and then beyond Peter and down into the bullpen, to Jones and Diana, laughing as they talked over coffee and case files; and even to Hughes, who sat in his office discussing something animatedly on the phone, unconsciously reigning over them all. Neal grinned.

"Yeah," he said, placing his signature gray felt fedora on the crown of his immaculately tousled brown hair. "I'm coming."

Because really, he was one of them now.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**The End.**

Did anyone else take note of the complete and utter change in Isabelle? I mean, at first she's this cold, coy seductress; then she's an angry, passionate accuser; then she's a quiet, grave confessor; and now...she's just a normal 21-year-old girl. It just goes to show that underneath all of our facades and masks, we are just normal people trying to make a place for ourselves in the world. You hear that, Neal? :)

Oh, and I have to ask: Did you like little Mia? She's sort of a child wunderkind. I like her. She's cute and she called Neal a narcissistic womanizer :D

I apologize if this seemed a little choppy or off-kilter; I was falling asleep at 2 a.m. finishing this up for you guys before I leave for my week-long sabbatical to Bermuda :) But ANYWAYS...it's done :) It's finished. I love it. I love all of you amazing readers & reviewers. Thank you SO much to:

**booksmartblonde333, Kiki Cabou, NayahReidWhumper xD, govgal, readpaintlaugh, Amagake, shel 263, januarysunshine13, Artgirl56. **Ale, anonymous tip, **realawsome, **Autumn, **kenziecaffrey, Ultracape, morgo7kc, Funshine908, **and **nexteighlives**, Painted Eyes' very first reviewer (and the one who convinced me to limit Neal's smirking to a reasonable amount :D). Thank you all for your great advice & support, and thanks to all of my subscribers and readers. (Oh and I apologize if I've missed anyone who's reviewed that I haven't mentioned here; you are still greatly appreciated, I'm just kind of in a rush! :D)

Till Neal's next adventure!

cheers!

-queen


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